Hard Lessons From Belmont

By Eric Banks

June 6, 2014

I’VE been fooled by the Belmont Stakes before.

Ten years ago, at the raffish old Pump Room bar in Chicago, I watched a little undefeated colt named Smarty Jones make his bid to capture the Triple Crown at Belmont Park in New York. It was awful to find myself anywhere but Belmont. I hadn’t missed being there in person since 1993, and I’d seen in that time five other Triple Crown hopefuls fail at the race’s quirky marathon distance of a mile and a half.

But Smarty Jones was going to be different. I loved everything about that horse. He was no fluke. Even the death of a president — Ronald Reagan passed away a few hours before post time — couldn’t put a damper on my mood. I remember shooting the entire bar a round as the Belmont field paraded in the paddock so that no one would be left with a dry glass during the good-luck toast.

Alas, Smarty placed second.

As it happens, I’ll be in Chicago again on Saturday as California Chrome attempts to do what Smarty Jones couldn’t — to become the first Triple Crown winner since Affirmed in 1978. But this time, there won’t be any rounds at the bar.

Every veteran horseplayer knows that the one way to win the Belmont is swamped by the million ways to lose: a stumble at the start (War Emblem, 2002), a jockey’s bad ride (Spectacular Bid, 1979), the sheer wear and tear of three grueling races in five weeks (Charismatic, 1999). To follow horse racing is to become a connoisseur of mistakes and bad luck.

Hardened racing fans are as obsessed with the minutiae of losing as with the rarity of winning. It’s a lifetime of watching sure things wilt and shoo-ins crumble. It’s for this reason that for horseplayers under the age of 50 or so, the quest for the Triple Crown elicits ambivalence. We have dim but warm memories of winners like Secretariat and Seattle Slew and Affirmed, but we’ve had our hearts broken too many times to pin our sentimental hopes on another would-be champ. “Sentimentality is a failure of feeling,” wrote Wallace Stevens. Most horseplayers would add that it is a failure to learn from the past.

Sure, as a lonely fan of an increasingly lonely sport, I’m happy for all the sudden company that comes with the hype of a Triple Crown bid. The sport’s attendance figures have dropped steadily over the past decade, and it has yet to find a new fan base in the face of its aging demographics. I cherish these rare moments when horse racing — at least good news about horse racing — dominates the sports section the way it did during its long run of glory years, from the 1950s through the 1970s, before racing dropped into sporting oblivion, overwhelmed by the juggernaut of mass-market team sports and the growing availability of alternative forms of gambling. It is a fedora sport in an ESPN universe.

Though I welcome the fair-weather fans, few appreciate just how hard it is to sweep the Triple Crown. After prevailing in the Kentucky Derby, a horse that goes on to win the Preakness is often a victor by attrition, as the tougher challengers, no longer having a shot at the Triple Crown, frequently skip the second leg in the series to better prepare for the Belmont Stakes. Three weeks later, the Belmont’s acid test — a long distance over the racetrack’s unusual and tiring sandy surface, facing a slew of well-rested adversaries — usually exposes the champ’s flaws.

It’s ironic that the Belmont Stakes is able to generate a crowd (and betting handle) as large as the one it will see on Saturday only by dangling the prospect of a Triple Crown — which is likely to send its customers home disappointed.

I hope I’m all wrong about California Chrome. Every strand of his narrative is appealing, from his unlikely pair of regular-guy owners to the magical training job done by his 77-year-old conditioner. A Triple Crown sweep would also be a fitting send-off to the track announcer and Belmont legend Tom Durkin, the longtime voice of New York racing who is retiring in August. If you love the sport, despite its doping scandals and episodes of callous, even cruel treatment of animals, you can’t but hope that the 120,000 spectators who are anticipated at Belmont Park will be treated to a perfect Cinderella — or Seabiscuit — ending.

But horse racing hasn’t been a hopeful sport in some time. I’m content to wish the gallant horse good luck from a distance and take the slim prospect of celebrating far away from the track in exchange for the likelihood of familiar disappointment in person. With the Triple Crown, it just seems like the sporting thing to do.

Eric Banks is the director of the New York Institute for the Humanities at New York University.